


what do i call you

by mizuki_yana



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alice in Wonderland References, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Insomnia, M/M, Magical Realism, Minor Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Stage Persona, Strippers & Strip Clubs, body glitter, city fic, femme Doyoung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29310153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizuki_yana/pseuds/mizuki_yana
Summary: Maybe it’s the city that numbed his emotions for this long, rough concrete blocks and filthy tar repelling anything charming and mesmerizing, the heavy steel and rigid glass of high stretched skyscrapers fending off the malleability of magic. Taeyong yearns for the pauses, the small gaps in between the incessant bustle of the metropolis, where time folds on itself creating a secluded pocket of calmness. He doesn’t abandon sleep entirely; he just can’t bring himself to try.The second time Taeyong ends up in Wonderland he is alone, possibly even more lost.“Can’t resist climbing down the rabbit hole?”
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30
Collections: doyochi fest round one





	what do i call you

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 2020/2021 doyochi fest, thank you so much for the opportunity, i really loved this prompt and i hope the person who submitted it manages to enjoy this piece ~ ^^ <3  
> prompt: "Person A finds himself falling for femme Person B, whose body glitter and garters make Person B look intimidatingly sexy on stage. And then Person B sees Person A's offstage, real life persona and it's a complete reversal, from the softest pastels to delicate lace. And Person A becomes even more enamored."  
> disclaimer: i am not 100% sure which meaning of femme you meant, because i had to do a bit of research, so what i decided to use is this: "to put it simply, "femme" is a descriptor for a queer person who presents and acts in a traditionally feminine manner". i used he/him pronouns for both of Doyoung's personas, but please feel free to interpret this story in any way you like. <3  
> also: this is my first published piece in english (not my native language), please play nice ~

“You need to unwind, Taeyong! You even worked overtime during the holidays! You’re coming with me, and I take no objections.”

The cracks on the wet streets fragment the reflections of the ever glowing neon lights of the city. Remnant puddles pepper the roads after the downpour, and the fresh fragrance of the thunderstorm still lingers in the air. Taeyong welcomes the rain, because it washes away the grime of the everyday monotony, clutching nastily on his back, even when he rubs it raw every night to get it off. He holds up his nose high to sniff into the rapidly disappearing smell, to catch a last whiff, to stretch out the momentary calm that’s so fragile in the bustling metropolis.

Johnny goes ahead, tapping away on his phone, checking the street signs at the intersection. He’s sure that the place they are looking for has to be around here, but he cannot swear for his dear life, because every time he exits the metal doors he finds himself still enchanted by the experience, unable to focus on his environment.

“Where exactly are we going?”

“It’s should be just down this alley, but Ten said that it might be hard to find if we are looking for it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Taeyong frowns. Johnny has mentioned the place already, but always in passing, details fuzzy, like he himself didn’t dwell on them enough, attention held hostage by something more important.

“It means that we might just have to get lost in order to end up in the right place, Taeyong.”

They do eventually end up in front of the curiously blue doors, almost pitch black, reminding Taeyong of the emptiness of space between galaxies. As he stares at the specks of metal peeking out from underneath the layer of paint he finds that he cannot recall the route that they took here, even though he had been working in the area for years now, knowing the blocks around like the back of his hand. He tears himself from the doors to look at Johnny questioningly, but to his unsaid worries Johnny only smiles widely, and turns the door handle.

The inside of Wonderland is clad in blue velvet and silver stars, the walls soaking up the constant rumble of the crowd. It’s not a big place, but it’s busy, almost all tables occupied, waiters and waitresses balancing ornate drinks on heavy plates. The moment they arrive a DJ plays something that makes the speakers reverberate with the force of the bass, but clearly it is an intermezzo, as the big stage is currently empty. Taeyong spots a few people in costumes mingling among the audience, whom he assumes to be the performers, and he marvels at the abundance of jewellery and makeup that each of them wears so naturally as if it was their everyday attire. He reminds himself that for them, it probably is. Suddenly he feels sick, like his cheap synthetic fibre suit jacket constrains his blood flow, dizziness and nausea settling in his system.

When he turns, Johnny is already at the bar, eyes crinkled into crescents. His blinding smile competes with the shimmer of the barman’s silver shirt as the man moves around, preparing their drinks, clearly playing along with Johnny’s flirting. As Taeyong catches up to them, he notices that Johnny has already removed his tie, leaving the top two buttons undone, and he feels the pang of loneliness echo through his insides.

“It’s your first time here, right, Alice?”

The voice that speaks to him is filled with mirth, and the corresponding eyes twinkle mischievously. Johnny chuckles softly, with a fondness that Taeyong believed to be reserved to his closest friends. Maybe it’s a different sound, just slightly breathier and more hopeful.

“Are you playing Cheshire Cat now, Ten? Should I be scared that once you’ll just disappear into thin air?”

“I don’t know John, would you look for me if I did?”

Taeyong sips on the pink drink that he’s been given, grateful for Johnny to figure out that he needs something sweet to ease his nerves, when Ten leans in to murmur into his ear. Taeyong startles at the sudden intrusion, hairs standing on end on the back of his neck.

“I think you should stick around until the main show tonight. It might be enlightening for you.”

He cannot really decipher the words, and by the time he whips his head back to look at Ten, the barman is already serving another customer. Johnny must sense Taeyong’s discomfort though, because his hand comes up to rub soothing circles on his knee, stopping the bouncing in its tracks. Taeyong didn’t even notice he was doing it.

“You okay, Yongie? This place can be a bit too much at first, but I swear you’ll get into it.”

He knows Johnny wouldn’t force him to stay if he’d rather go home to sleep off the exhaustion, but somehow he suspects that he’s right. The alternative option of going home to his empty apartment only to fall into bed and stare into the void sounded pitiful – even if it was what he had been doing lately whenever he was so overworked that even sleep eluded him, leaving him without a sound strategy to rest his mind, constant weariness drilling deeper into his bones. He needed something to break the solidified routine of his daily life, to lull the constant noise of unnecessary thoughts in his head.

First of all, the drink was starting to do a great job of this – Taeyong’s tolerance was famously low, which fact caused Johnny to haul his semi-conscious ass home from company outings and team-building events on several occasions in the past. Even though now the sugar concentration was amped up with some sickly sweet strawberry syrup – curtesy of Ten getting intel from Johnny, probably – the alcohol still manages getting to Taeyong’s receptors. He starts to feel the bass of the speakers lapping at his awareness, hinting at a promise to wash over him, to submerge him in the comforting waves of cadences.

A little while later Johnny ushers him to relocate to closer to the stage – he notices an acquaintance, sitting alone at a table, whiskey on rocks in hand. Jaehyun, as he is introduced, is clearly dressed appropriately to the place, gorgeously built shoulders clad in a black suit embroidered with small glinting beads, suggesting that contrary to them, he came here with intent. Johnny seems to be friends with him, but they don’t specify how they met each other.

“Is Cinderella performing tonight?”

Jaehyun grins, facial expression slightly guilty, like Johnny’s question cut right into the middle of his business.

“Not today, no. He’s out and about though, I think he’s just taking a break. He’ll be back to watch Melanie, for sure.”

“Wow, it’s Melanie’s night? Yongie, we’ve hit gold with the timing!”

Apparently Melanie is not simply a dancer, though Johnny and Jaehyun also wax poetic about the gracefulness with which he’s able to execute even the hardest of moves. But his voice, they describe it as ethereal, powerful enough to stir goosebumps on the audience’s skin.

“I always wonder how he’s able to sing while dancing. He must have had crazy amounts of practice, to be able to control his breathing like that.”

“He’s real performer. He has actual talent; Wonderland is lucky that he chose them.”

The heat in Taeyong’s face grows by the minute. He cannot help but match the excitement of the two, growing genuinely curious about this performance. When he was younger he had this hobby of messing around with beats and some lyrics, but he never actually dwelled deep into the craft, it was just a fun way to let out steam in between study sessions. Even if his friends told him that he had a knack for making music, it wasn’t like his parents would have let him stray for anything less in their eyes than a proper good paying job at a multinational company – and he always felt like voice was not made for the delicate sounds that he so admired in his favourite ballads. It was better not to pursue an uncertain potential, to save himself from any impending disappointment.

When the DJ announces he would play the last track before tonight’s performance, Taeyong feels the tension of expectation solidify in the air – as if he could just reach out and pluck strands of it, twist them around his fingers like locks of hair. The song ends, last chords giving place to deafening silence for a short moment, even the crowd quiets, which he would deem unthinkable if it wasn’t for overall mystery of this place.

A sky high melody sneaks into the room, notes falling and rising again delicately. It reminds Taeyong of a church choir accompanied by an organ, and a familiar tune, something that he would have heard on the radio. _Must be an original rendition_ , he thinks, then even the thoughts clear out of his head, because slowly a tremendous chandelier of pure crystals appears from behind the ceiling, scattering light in a million different directions.

At first he doesn’t notice him. The glimmer of the shining jewels and their constant tremble at the smallest movement make the ornament confusing, and he doesn’t know where to focus. Then he hears a delicate voice join the organ as the tempo picks up, and his eyes find the most beautiful person he’s ever had the chance to see in the flesh. His entire body is covered in shimmer: he is wearing a dress literally made out of sequins and beads with very little textile attached to them, leaving his long legs bare, able to display the absolutely obscene amount of body glitter that adorns his skin. Taeyong feels like he can’t process the view, everything is just too much, but it still leaves him craving more. Each second he spends grazing his eyes over the sight he finds a new detail, like the exquisite rhinestone chains across the thickest part of his thighs, a single line of jewels disappearing under the skirt of the dress, or the wide choker of the same design, sitting snugly just under the singer’s prominent Adam’s apple.

Taeyong only realizes that he hasn’t been breathing when the strain on his lungs force him to take a sharp inhale. Melanie, a mirage of the highest heavens is also blessed with the most divine voice, still soaring above octaves, making Taeyong’s chaotic thoughts quake with the resonance. He considers praying at that moment, to any god that will listen to him not to take this vision away ever. He wants to engrave it into his brain, to tattoo it onto the inside of his eyelids, to wake up and go to sleep seeing this image for the end of time.

Melanie stays seated on one branch of the slowly descending chandelier for half the song, slightly swinging his legs, high heels studded with gems blinding with the movements. Perfect almond shaped eyes scan the audience even while he’s singing into a headset mic, under them there are tears painted in silver glitter, making Taeyong’s heart clench, even though his brain is screaming at him that it’s just makeup. The melody matches the sorrowful mood, Melanie’s breathy voice sending shivers up on everyone’s spines.

After the bridge there is a short instrumental inlay, starting at the same time as the soles of Melanie’s heels reach the surface of the stage. If Taeyong felt lightheaded before, he is in actual danger of fainting now, as the singer slips into choreography, crossing the stage step by step with flowing movements, inching closer to the pole on the other end which was definitely not there at the beginning of the show. This is not the first time Melanie closes his eyes, but it’s the first that he whips his head back, displaying the choker slightly cutting into the muscle of his elegant neck.

“You alright, Taeyong? You look like you’re about to collapse.”

Taeyong is thankful that they are sat in massive leather armchairs because this way when he startles at Jaehyun’s question he doesn’t tumble to the ground. He honestly forgot about the world around him, so utterly absorbed in Melanie’s performance as if for a short while he left behind his corporeal vessel and ascended into a purely immaterial being. As he arrives back to feel the physical state of his body he jolts, immediately yanking down his jacket and tie to avoid combusting because of the insufferable heat.

He ducks his head when he realizes that he’s half hard, and adjusts the piece of clothing in his lap, hoping that it’ll hide how quickly he broke down at the first stimulus. Jaehyun and Johnny grin at each other, already familiar with the magic of Wonderland – Melanie’s magnetism is not lost on them, but they’ve had the experience to draw up their guards in order not to get completely lost in the spectacle.

They quickly lose Taeyong once again though, as Melanie arrives to the pole, malleable body bending in acute angles and delicately arched curves. He’s slim but strong, easily lifting his body off the floor, wrapping himself around the metal for friction. What’s perplexing is how the body glitter and the jewellery don’t seem to incapacitate him in any way, and the top of the wonder is how he’s still perfectly hitting the right notes. _It really is magic_ , thinks Taeyong, hand reaching out for his drink, as the intense focus has left his throat parched.

He’s surprised to find a newly refilled strawberry delight at his fingertips. His eyes flash back towards the table and he’s met with an absolutely adorable blonde young mans cautiously balancing on Jaehyun’s bent knees, keeping the polite distance from actually falling into his lap. As soon as he notices Taeyong turning his head he smiles sweetly and blinks, the gesture shrouding him in an air of innocence.

“Cinderella here was kind enough to bring us new drinks. This is Taeyong, who seems to have left this plane of existence. Maybe you could relay to Melanie that he has just annihilated a new fan.”

Johnny’s eyes crinkle as he teases Taeyong, and he feels himself reddening even more. He is getting dizzier by the second.

“I think I’m in love”, he whispers before taking a sip of his drink, voice rough from lack of use. Then, as the thought catches up with him, he looks back up, suddenly frightened. “Don’t actually tell him this, please.”

Cinderella’s laugh jingles softly as he nods, seemingly happy not to comment on the information. He’s wearing a baby blue dress whose design is far from the famous hooped petticoat of the animated film, its short length making it a lot more manoeuvrable in between the tables. The long gloves on his arms match the stockings that come up to the middle of his thighs, held in place with ruffled garters. Taeyong sneaks a glance at Jaehyun, who is resting his hand on the waist of the man, and he imagines seeing a nervous tremble in his fingers.

By the time Melanie loses the sequin dress, Taeyong is at risk of evaporating once again, the newly revealed ornamental chain across his waist punching him square in the gut. The piece of jewellery is connected to the chain on his thigh with a big metal ring that clinks against the pole, the tiny sounds almost inaudible under the loud music that guides his movements. After he ended the first song in a feathery note, he took off his headset and mic, surrendering his full attention to the pole, rising higher and higher, until his moves became aerial, then letting gravity to spin him down, stopping abruptly just a hair width from the ground. Taeyong teeters on the edge of a heart attack during the entirety of the performance. The only piece of clothing that Melanie keeps is a pair of silver hot shorts with a zipper on one side. When his slender fingers find the clasp of the zipper, he looks out to the audience with the utmost smugness.

His entire stage persona comes across as a tease, as someone who’s aware of the power he holds over his audience and enjoys every ounce of it; pulling sarcastic smiles and allowing himself to roll his eyes at louder reactions and whistles from the audience before grinning back and licking his lips. He looks like a menace to humanity, and to Taeyong’s health specifically, because he’s surely at risk of bursting with tension, as Melanie plays with the slider on the zipper.

Fortunately, he is saved by the ridiculous fact that, being a fake zipper, the hot shorts stay in place – the reveal results in a strangely loud collective groan from the audience, hearing which Melanie straight up laughs, face scrunching up cutely, the glimmering paint on his face blurring at the edges.

He ends the performance shortly after, streaks of sweat cutting bare rivers through the layer of body glitter on his skin. His chest rises and falls in sync with the roar of the applause that he gets from the audience, the smile which he directs to the few people who stood up to cheer more loudly seems a lot more genuine than the teasing ones he dropped during the show.

After he leaves the stage through the back door and the DJ starts up another round of the currently popular radio songs, Taeyong’s body gives in, deflating after his adrenaline high, leaving him even more exhausted and drained. He can’t decide if his ears are actually ringing or it’s just the change in pressure after he’s held his breath for so long, and he feels kind of dizzy, like he’s floating in a tub of liquid denser than water. He tries to relax his eyes by closing them, and the sounds get a bit more audible around him, Johnny’s voice cutting through the buzz.

“It’s a shame he doesn’t mingle, I’m sure most of the people would love to get to know him.”

“He’s actually kind of shy off-stage, you know? And he gives such successful performances, that the manager lets him get away without waiter duties. By the way…” Cinderella gracefully slips off Jaehyun’s lap and somehow procures a tray seemingly out of nowhere, collecting the empty glasses from the table. “I should really get back to work. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Taeyong wonders if the boy is oblivious or he just purposefully ignores Jaehyun’s longing stare when he disappears back in the direction of the bar.

“How was it, Yongie? Enjoying your first night at Wonderland?”

Taeyong blushes again. _It rather feels like a fucking epiphany, witnessing this otherworldly creature perform_ , he thinks, and Johnny snickers when he shares this thought aloud.

“I can ask Ten for Melanie’s schedule, you know, if you want to return.”

The implication of the phrase makes Taeyong embarrassed – he’s not usually what you would call a fan type personality, he has never really understood the way fans almost worship celebrities without even talking to them once, their admiration only based on performed personas and carefully curated appearances. However, after hearing Melanie’s voice, after seeing him shine bright like a diamond, he is not so sure of himself anymore. Ten and Cinderella, they seemed real enough, even as part of this mysterious place, but Melanie truly felt like an apparition, like he only existed as long as the spotlight illuminated the stage.

The intensity of his own reaction scares Taeyong a little bit. It’s been a long time he has felt this strongly about anything, really, spending most days too drowned by work to produce emotions past apathy. Suddenly everything just starts to get too much, and he needs nothing more than to get back into the safety of his own space.

Johnny’s hand is warm on his back when they leave, dampening the painful itch in his body, and he tries to ignore the faint bite of guilt in his stomach when the older man throws back an apologetic glance in the direction of the bar counter.

***

The second time Taeyong ends up in Wonderland he is alone, possibly even more lost – which works in his favour actually, as he finds the blue doors significantly faster than Johnny did last time. He has been raking his mind lately to make sense of his feelings and in general the world around him, twisting and pulling on his thoughts thousand fold, until they stretched long and thin like dragon’s beard candy, to no avail. The only conclusion that he was able to draw was that he simply had too little exposure, and if he was to analyse matters further, he had to gather more data. _Like a damage investigation_ , he thought, _just need to assess the situation again, pay attention to the details._

Ten greets him with a wide toothy grin, immediately starting up on a strawberry delight as Taeyong sits down on a barstool.

“Can’t resist climbing down the rabbit hole?”

Taeyong can’t stop his nervous high pitched laughter from bubbling out his throat. He took the time to go home and change after work, and during the simple process of getting ready a giddy type of anticipation built up inside him.

“I need to focus on something else than work.” The phrase in his head echoes in Johnny’s voice, and he’s starting to believe it. Ten’s smile is softer this time, eyes knowing as he places the drink before him on the counter.

“Bottoms up, then.”

In lack of familiar faces, Taeyong finds a seat alone, nursing his second glass in his hand. Today’s tracks sound rougher around the edges, hard chords flying on top of clanking backgrounds, reminding him of high metal construction cranes and boarded-up street fronts.

The metallic rattle never dies off, even as the lights dim for a second, and a blinding spotlight targets the middle of the stage. Tension flares up in the audience, and even a few sharp inhales are audible when several thick ropes of short-link chain fall down from behind the ceiling.

Taeyong’s brain short circuits. Melanie appears on top of the chains, wrists and ankles clad in protective leather bounds, twisting downwards on a few chains perfectly in balance, with the exact grace of aerial dancers, limbs slightly quivering with taut muscles. He is not wearing a dress this time, exchanged it for a leather corset and skirt, the black ruffles of his garters held in place by straps criss-crossing around his thighs. He is practically glowing again, with the amount of body glitter painted on his skin, although as he descends on the chains and they cut into the meat of his body, the glitter starts to give, drizzling the floor with a glimmering layer.

Melanie is not singing tonight, instead there’s electric guitar riffs soaking up the jingle of the chains as he spins from pose to pose, always a little lower, a precisely measured journey. At some stops he manages to look out to the audience – the routine is clearly more challenging than usual, his face is screwed up with concentration, but the rare grins he sneaks in between are just as dripping with confidence as the last time.

Taeyong feels positively attacked. Somehow he manages to get back control over his breathing, but once again his environment fades around him as he is zeroed on to Melanie’s black nails on his long fingers, gripping just few links under the previous position, and the thick leather collar with a single silver hoop in the middle that’s clasped around his neck. Focusing on the details seems to cause more problems than it solves, because Taeyong is hot all over again, this time no jacket to hide himself with. He curses under his breath as he tries to adjust himself, grateful for the relative darkness that blankets the audience. He is definitely not making any progress towards figuring his life out or driving off the frustration that’s been eating at him for the past weeks.

When his bare feet hit the ground, Melanie’s movements become more energetic, as if he finds comfort in the solidness of the floor. His face relaxes as he hops over to the pole, tongue swiping at the red blood lipstick, eyes back to teasing, poking fun of the viewers. He is in his element again, quickly losing the corset off his torso, and Taeyong just cannot fathom how the body glitter stayed on him even under the tightly clasped garment.

“I will perish, Ten, this is definitely not the right way to get my mind off things! My mind is on more things now than I can handle!” Taeyong all but sobs into his fifth glass of strawberry delight after Melanie ended the performance, skirt still around his waist, the globes of his bare ass peeking out under the black frills. He made a big show of sliding down a pair of shorts from under the ruffled material, then his next moves on the pole revealed that he is still wearing an astoundingly small piece of underwear. The audience lost their mind, even the loudest heavy metal couldn’t drown out the whistles, and Melanie rolled his eyes mockingly before succumbing to a fit of giggles. He looked appallingly cute, almost naked, spinning upside down on the pole, and Taeyong was so confused by the mix of emotions that he just let his tears trickle down on his face without reaching to wipe them.

He feels physically exhausted again, his legs shaking as he tumbled back to the bar, flopping onto a barstool until he can gather enough strength to be able to get home safely. One of the myriad of thoughts storming around in his brain is the regret of not bringing Johnny with him this time – he feels a need for both for emotional and physical support.

“Don’t cry, Alice, you’re too pretty for those tears.” Ten reaches over the counter to brush his thumb under Taeyong’s eyes. The slightest concern flashes across his face, but he is quick to arrange his lips into a sympathetic smile. “You’ll be alright. Maybe try mingling a bit? I’m sure a lot of people would be honoured to get to know you.”

Taeyong looks up incredulously, so surprised by the suggestion that his eyes almost pop out of his skull as he stares at Ten.

“I’m in love, Ten, my feelings cannot be satiated by a quick fuck with someone else.”

Ten snorts, chuckling into a pair of drinks that he is in the middle of preparing.

“Believe me, a quick fuck goes a long way when you’re dealing with unprocessed feelings.”

Taeyong tries to untangle the meaning behind the phrase, but the alcohol in his drinks make him slow and miserable. He whines, and drops his head onto his folded arms, silently blessing Melanie for not scheduling his performance on a weekday.

“Do you need me to call John to pick you up?”

***

Taeyong tries to stay away, he really does. The intense way he is teetering hyperventilation each time he thinks about Melanie scares him, so he looks for ways to sidestep this problem. He convinces himself that the only possible solution is burying himself even deeper into insurance contracts and consulting projects, which is apparently the exact opposite reaction what Johnny was hoping for.

“Yongie, look at me. You need to get out of here. You cannot barricade yourself in your office because you accidentally felt something for the first time in years.”

“Johnny, do you understand what happened? I went out one time, and I fell in love with an illusion. It’s a beautiful, wondrous illusion, but still just a mirage nonetheless. My life is a disaster.”

Taeyong turns around the thoughts in his head, and wonders if he really misses the days when he was staring into the void until dawn, without blinding images of Melanie in his head to keep him company. Probably not really, but this new turn of events isn’t less merciful on his sleep schedule.

Aside from reliving the performances every time he closes his eyes, his mind keeps on mixing in random bits of melodies into the memory of Melanie singing which Taeyong swears he’s never heard before, but still can’t stop thinking about. He hasn’t dared to inspect them up close though, because he just doesn’t have the _time_ to be messing around with making music anymore. He has a proper job now.

“Melanie’s a performer, but he’s still an actual human being, you know.”

“I find that really hard to believe, Johnny. He’s an apparition, from heaven or hell, I cannot decide anymore.”

“You’re impossibly dramatic.”

***

Old habits die hard, and he next weekend finds Taeyong wandering the streets at odd hours. Taking a walk around the block usually helped to decrease his insomnia, so when the darkest hours of the night roll around and he’s still conscious, limbs numb from the continuous twisting and turning in his bed, he sighs deep, and wraps his fuzziest scarf around his shoulders on top of his long winter coat. The January nights are already biting cold but they are still without snowfall, only frost painting the tips of the bare branches white. Taeyong unconsciously gravitates towards the quietest spot in the park, where the thick of the trees almost entirely drowns out the rumble of the incessant traffic. A big city never sleeps, inhabitants like hard-working ants marching around, never ending tasks always to finish, errands to run, business to do. Even though he tends to fall into the same unhealthy workflow loop, Taeyong yearns for the pauses, the small gaps in between rush-hour tides and important meetings, where time folds on itself for a moment creating a secluded patch of calmness.

He doesn’t intend to smoke, but as he sits on a bench and his fingers dug deeper into the torn lining of his pocket he discovers a long forgotten pack of cigarettes, still half full, lighter slipped in together with the white sticks. He’s tried to quit several times, always dealing better with withdrawal in the summer heat when his fingers are constantly sticky with sweat, less itching for that thin cylinder to hold in between them.

He realizes that the pack was probably abandoned right when the lighter ran out of fluid, as he clicks it for the fifth time, still only producing sparkles. Shaking it doesn’t help, it even feels hopelessly light, but he tries again, getting slightly frustrated with the failure after his system already started to anticipate the relaxing glide of smoke between his lips.

Suddenly two hands appear in his periphery, holding a small box, one already pulling out a match, scraping it on the side in a fluid motion. Taeyong instinctively shades the igniting flame from any stray air current that could extinguish it, as he puts the cigarette between his lips and leans in closer to light it. The flare is reflected by smooth varnish on the nails and a dainty silver ring, and for a moment Taeyong swears he sees flecks of glitter stuck on the skin, glinting in the faint glow. When he looks up to thank the mysterious rescuer for their help, he chokes on the first drag, lungs tripping on the hot smoke, windpipe contracting.

Melanie seems to tower over him, all long legs and slim figure, powder blue faux fur jacket illuminated by the closest streetlamp, eerie white light drawing sharp contours on his face. It’s definitely him though, because Taeyong recognizes the slope of his waist accentuated by the corset of the pink laced dress he is wearing and the thickness of his thighs that are now, too, encircled by ruffled garters, held in place by the straps of suspenders disappearing under his skirt. Melanie pockets the matches before letting out a scoff, as if amused by the other’s suffering. Taeyong’s eyes start watering as he hunches over coughing, brain capacity maxed out with the thought of trying not to suffocate, not able to assess the situation any further.

“Why do you even smoke if you’re just going to off yourself, rather sooner than later?”

Taeyong slowly regains control over his breathing as the painful scraping feeling in his throat subdues, however his mind is no closer to thawing from the freeze that got over it at the sight of Melanie. He stares at the man, wordless, taking in the mocking expression and the somehow ever present shine of glitters on his cheekbones.

“You’re staying alive, right? I couldn’t cope with the guilt if I you ended up dying because I left you here.”

“Don’t leave.” Taeyong utters the first thought that he can peel out of his malfunctioning brain, echoing Melanie’s words. He still can’t fathom if this is reality or he just started hallucinating because of the swallowed smoke, hypothermia, or just his over-exhausted mind playing games on his conscience. For a fleeting moment he considers reaching out and waving his hand across the illusion, to convince himself that the magic world doesn’t spill out this far away from the galactic blue doors of Wonderland.

Melanie’s screws up his face, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“You’re not a homeless person, are you? What are you doing alone in the park at four in the morning?”

Taeyong shakes his head vigorously.

“ _You_ shouldn’t walk alone in the park at four in the morning!” – he blurts out, embarrassed by his harsh voice the next second. He ducks his head, and he notices that he’s still holding onto the cigarette, black end still faintly fuming.

“Very bold of you to tell me what to do after you almost choked to death in front of me.”

“…But you’re _assaultable_.”

Melanie snorts loudly.

“I’m _what_?”

“I mean. You’re dressed like that…” Taeyong is getting more embarrassed by the minute, and he tries to gesture vaguely to the other’s delicate clothes. A whine escapes his mouth when Melanie raises his eyebrows questioningly, as if daring him to continue. “It’s not safe to go outside looking this pretty. Especially not in winter, you’ll catch a cold!”

As much as he’s imagined meeting the man in person, somehow these scenarios always played out in closed spaces, most frequently in between the blue velvet clad walls of the bar, sometimes in the twilight of his bedroom, amidst soft pillows and warm blankets. The thought of the dancer outside in the open, surrounded by the filth of the streets and attacked by the harsh smog of the city has never crossed his mind, the concept so foreign to him that he is still having trouble processing it, to accept the fact that this creature standing before him exists outside the boundaries of the magical realm and his own imagination.

“Did you ask me not to leave because you wanted to lecture me or because you wanted to hit on me?”

Putting it this way, neither option seems as respectable behaviour of Taeyong’s part. He feels frustrated and misunderstood, because he just wanted to make sure that Melanie was indeed a physical being, not a seizure induced hallucination, although objectively speaking his reason sounds just as offending and slightly more insane than the previous ones. He still decides to answer honestly, because he just has to _know_.

“I just… If you have left, I would have been convinced that you’re an illusion. I’m still not sure that this is actually happening.”

Melanie’s features ease up, but only barely, something dangerously looking like pity creeping up his face.

“Is it because you’re high? Drunk? You’re not actually gonna assault me, right?”

Taeyong whimpers at the assumption, and suddenly he’s whishing he _was_ hallucinating.

“No! It’s because you’re you…”

“You know who I am?”

“You’re Melanie…?”

The man’s perfect almond eyes widen, mouth opening big and round. He seems genuinely surprised, as if he wasn’t a celebrated star who is cheered on and adored by the audience. After a few moments of bewilderment, he collects himself and clears his throat.

“It’s actually Dongyoung. I’m flattered though, then.”

“Dongyoung?”

“Melanie is my stage persona, he really only exists as long as I’m performing. I prefer to be called my real name off-stage.”

It’s Taeyong’s turn to be shocked. In reality it’s not such a strange concept, something that could be called as completely normal, mundane even in entertainment circles, but in Taeyong’s mind the name fused together with the image; the exquisite memory of intricate garments and silky skin, the blinding shine of glitters, rhinestones and jewellery sounding out the syllables in his head each time he closed his eyes for longer than a second.

“It’s nice to meet you then, Dongyoung.”

“Aren’t you going to give me your name?”

“I’m Taeyong.”

“Nice to meet you too, Taeyong. I haven’t yet met anyone who recognized me outside Wonderland.”

Taeyong ends up offering his massive scarf for Dongyoung to sit on, the boards of the bench still frozen next to him. The man sitting at an arms’ lengths seems astoundingly like an actual human being, his hands almost nervously fiddling with the ruffles of his skirt as he asks a series of perplexing questions about his performances, how he looks like from the audience, if the soundscape was enjoyable, if his choice of style was acceptable or overdone. Taeyong still tries to fight his wonderment towards the stage persona when the realization slowly dawns on him, nape tingling with the excitement of discovery. He concentrates on the differences: the softness of Dongyoung’s voice when he speaks, his curious glance directed at Taeyong, the slight tilt of his head, looking genuinely interested in his responses, the way he gets visibly embarrassed when the phrase “heavenly apparition” slips out of Taeyong’s mouth. He doesn’t try to take it back though, even if Dongyoung scolds him for overreacting, he only chuckles and keeps silent about the way his heartrate has been racing from the moment he lit up his long forgotten cigarette.

***

“He is real, Johnny!”

Johnny looks up at Taeyong from his steaming cup of black coffee. He has his own blend stored in a neat metal box in the cupboard of the break room, because the brand that the company supplies is sub-satisfactory for his cultivated taste, and not even Taeyong is allowed to touch the stash without politely asking first.

“Have you even slept at all?”

“I’ve talked to him! I’ve actually seen him and talked to him, it wasn’t a dream this time!”

“Are you talking about Melanie?”

Taeyong looks on the verge of collapsing, huge black circles under his eyes, the paleness of his skin rivalling the colour of his crumpled shirt. His hand is visibly shaking when he reaches for the button of the common coffee machine, picking the flavoured cappuccino option with extra sugar. Johnny’s stomach twitches at the thought of the sickly sweet syrup added to the liquid that definitely cannot be called coffee anymore.

“Yes! No, actually, because his real name is Dongyoung.”

Despite the state he is in, Taeyong positively beams at Johnny, cradling his mug to his chest. Johnny can’t help but smile back at him; he hasn’t seen his friend hopeful in such a long time that he feels grateful for whatever power decided to grace him with a chance. He still worries for his health, the man never having been adept at managing his insomnia, but the bubbling air of happy excitement that surrounds him now is a welcome gift after months of fluctuating apathy and nervous irritability.

“How did you meet?”

***

Johnny would call his habits unhealthy, but Taeyong swears he can concentrate better when the sky is a hazy pink outside his window, the darkness of the night never absolute because of the thick cloud of pollution hanging permanently between the city’s high rises. He doesn’t abandon sleep entirely; he just can’t bring himself to try before the exhaustion knocks him off his feet. Another thing he couldn’t explain is the reason for which he is clicking away on his PC, music production software open with the basic building blocks of a song stretching over the tracks.

He really shouldn’t give in so easily, but he feels tired of pushing away the notes echoing constantly in his head. His mind keeps playing back his conversation with Dongyoung on a never-ending loop, the rise and fall of his quiet chuckle, his clear enunciation, and there’s already a chord sequence drawn out on the monitor in front of him, before he can stop his fingers meddling around the keyboard.

He still hasn’t dared to go back to Wonderland. Every fibre of his body aches to go and see Melanie again, but he’s afraid that experiencing a spectacle again would throw him back in the caverns of those visceral emotions he felt the first time, and he’s not ready to fight his way out again. He needs time to get accustomed to the idea of Dongyoung, strangely so different, but at the same time agonizingly familiar.

As the night drops into the forsaken hours his stomach grumbles, and he realizes that it’s been almost half a day since the last time he ate. He decides that a whiff of the frozen air would maybe help him stay away from the impending mania he is starting to get himself into, so he pulls away from the desk – it takes him actual mental effort to switch off his computer, but his growing hunger manages to force him into action.

The flickering electric brightness of the non-stop convenience store is no less painful on his eyes than the light of his screen, but he can’t bring himself to rush, because the shop is deserted and he relishes the hovering feeling of stillness engendered by the lack of people scrambling about at three in the morning. He is aimlessly gazing at different kinds of batteries, tying and untying knots on the drawstring of his fastened hoodie, when someone reaches across the shelf right in front of him. He jumps back, jolted out of his thoughts, quickly muttering an apology despite the fact that it was the other person who invaded his own personal space.

“Taeyong?”

The sound of his name strikes unexpectedly, so he turns, having already started looking for his original target of cheap instant ramen packets.

It’s Dongyoung, but it isn’t him. Taeyong feels like his foot slipped off an invisible step, out of balance, desperately looking for a ledge to catch at to keep himself from falling. Dongyoung is not wearing delicate lace and garters now: he’s in sweats that look suspiciously like pajama bottoms, a wool coat that seems several sizes larger than him hanging off his broad shoulders. An ushanka-like hat presses down on his bangs and Taeyong is so caught off-guard that his lets his jaw drop, staring unabashedly at the man’s clothes. He desperately tries to make sense of the picture: Dongyoung in between the lines of supplies in an ordinary shop, without the shine of glitters or jewellery, in thick cotton fabrics and a fuzzy knitted scarf looped around his elegant neck. The scene is so far away from the glamour and spectacle of the illuminated boards of the stage, its mundanity clashes so jarringly with the arcane atmosphere of the bar that Taeyong feels completely lost again, torn from the dream-like haze of the magical realm and thrust into the harshness of the quotidian life.

“I know my brother’s clothes are not exactly my style, but are they really that bad?”

Dongyoung’s voice indicates that he is half-joking, lips stretching in a lopsided smile. Taeyong shakes his head, mainly to break out of his stupor. The sight of Dongyoung looking like a perfectly normal human being again makes his mind dizzy, like he has been throwing somersaults for hours and suddenly stopped, whiplash continuing to twirl his brain inside his skull.

“They’re weather-appropriate.”

Dongyoung laughs, a hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“Aren’t you proud of me for taking care of myself?”

The phrasing ignites a buzzing blaze inside Taeyong, skin tingling with an inexplicable warmth. He nods, cheeks reddening, and Dongyoung’s eyes crinkle into crescents at the response.

“What are you doing here?”

Dongyoung waves a couple of boxed light bulbs in the air.

“The light went out in the guest room at my brother’s apartment, and he’s too preoccupied with his work to remember buying new ones.”

The domesticity of the situation plucks sharply on Taeyong’s heartstring, waves of resonance travelling throughout his ribcage.

“I wrote you a song.”

“You… what?”

“To sing. I wrote a song for you to sing. If you want to. You have a very beautiful voice.”

Taeyong is rambling, but he can’t stop the words flowing out of his mouth, worry urging him on to speak, to explain the details so that Dongyoung doesn’t misunderstand him _again_.

“It’s not actually finished yet, though, so I can’t show you yet or anything. I just… I couldn’t _not_ think about you.”

The surprise on Dongyoung’s face is less out of shock and more in wonder, the sincerity of his expression leaving Taeyong raw and vulnerable. He croaks out a cough to clear his throat, trying to dislodge an imagined morsel stuck just below his larynx.

“I’d love to hear it later.”

***

February brings with it the long awaited flurry of snow, and even though it melts upon impacting the ugly black tar of the city streets, the swirling snowflakes dancing in the air make for a pretty scenery to get lost in. By the time Taeyong gathers up enough courage to venture back into Wonderland he has started several more songs, all far from polished, while he spends an undisclosed amount of time imagining Dongyoung’s voice adapting to different genres.

He made sure to ask Johnny to come with him this time, afraid of making the same mistake as before and over-indulging in alcohol only because he gets too worked up too fast. He hopes that having an anchor will help him deal with the trauma of seeing Dongyoung as Melanie again, dolled up, body glitter lighting up his every movement.

It does not help.

Somehow he feels like he should have anticipated it.

Everything goes smoothly until he’s just watching Johnny predictably flirt with Ten, making up bets in his head about the possible secret incident that plays a role in their prolonged abstinence, sipping on his customary strawberry delight, with extra froth on top. According to the barman today is a special day, but he gives no more information to the two of them, only emphasizing his silence with a finger in front of his lips, before blowing them a kiss and skipping away to serve another customer. The atmosphere in the bar feels undoubtedly different, the stars on the walls are almost twinkling in a tinted light as if Taeyong is seeing the world through rose-coloured glasses. He rubs his eyes just in in case, but he finds that he’s already getting mentally used to things appearing through a distorted lens here at Wonderland.

When they drift over to the tables though, he is surprised by the heavy curtain that hides the stage from direct view. It’s the same velvet fabric than the carpet on the walls, and it’s massive enough to affect the acoustics of the up-tempo melodies spilling out of the large speakers. The result is a soundscape that’s somehow more mellow, overtones dampened, unnecessary flares faded out. Taeyong is convinced that the presence of only one curtain, no matter how huge, shouldn’t shape the pre-recorded tracks this intensely, and wonders if he is witnessing again the inherent magic of this place.

They manage to settle into two large armchairs that are curiously empty near the back of the hall, as if they’ve been purposefully left free, awaiting them, every other table and booth already occupied. Taeyong falls into a comfortable buzz, the kind where he’s just happy to listen to the murmur of the crowd, periodically flashing a blissed out smile to his friend.

Eventually the lights dim out even more, and the sudden pull of the curtain kicks off the show. At the first glance it’s apparent that Melanie planned this night to be unlike any other, because the entire stage is covered in a sort of cutesy decoration, enormous gif-wrapped boxes serving as weights for the numerous glossy balloons swaying around in the background. The pole is already drawn up in the middle, painted like an elaborate birthday candle. Shades of baby blue and pastel pink alternate on the ornaments, and even Taeyong starts to feel a bit overwhelmed by the saccharine installation, when his ears pick up the playful guitar plunks getting steadily louder each second.

The next moment Melanie swings into the stage, literally, on a wooden swing that was until now hidden by the parted curtain. A hysterical laughter bubbles out of Taeyong’s throat, because he is wearing a bunny-eared headband and he’s clad in all white, short frilly skirt equal part lace and tulle, delicate corselette reminding Taeyong of the costume of graceful ballerinas. The indispensable layer of now pure white body glitter reaches up to the corner of his eyes where it turns into an intricate pattern of rhinestones surrounding the mischievous almond eyes.

He is singing again, and Taeyong melts at the second syllable, because his voice sounds supernaturally intimate, as if he was directly whispering the lyrics into his ears. Taeyong’s skin breaks out in goosebumps, storing away the thought that the bar was somehow amplifying Melanie’s voice, and he wonders if everyone else is having the same delirium.

Of course by time Melanie unties the fluffy bow that holds the skirt around his waist Taeyong is a whimpering mess again, trying to shield himself by curling up in the armchair, folding his knees in front of his torso, with little success. When he absolutely cannot bear the tension of Melanie hitting a higher note while winking from the top of the pole, he buries his head in his arms, only to snap it back up again, because missing the precious moment a lace garter slips lower on his thigh would be even worse than spontaneous combustion.

Next to him Johnny seems to fare much better the spectacle, even chuckling at Melanie’s more explicit grimaces, like he is completely unaffected by the game that is played on the audience. Taeyong whines at his friend from his crumpled up position, because he feels weak and sensitive and he doesn’t understand why it’s only him that crumbles so easily.

“You’re emotional because you sleep barely enough to keep yourself alive. I don’t even understand how you survive on a daily basis, Yongie.”

Taeyong decides to ignore his comment because he can declare that he didn’t have trouble with his emotions before he knew about Melanie’s existence. _It’s karma_ , he thinks, _it’s the wicked magic of this place, it’s the insanity of the blue metal doors and the traitor twinkling stars._

He is still repeating this mantra in his head when he stumbles back to the bar after the end of the performance. Melanie’s feigned chaste gestures even provoked a shower of appropriately white roses from the audience, which he thanked with a sincere wide smile that crinkled his eyes, a rhinestone vigorously popping off from the strain. The melodic jingle of his laughter was audible in its full glory because of the headset mic that he kept the whole time, and Taeyong can’t decide if he is grateful beyond measure for the unfiltered gasps between positions that was delivered in pristine quality to his ear, or he is eternally cursed for not being able to forget this night, memory permanently burned into the convolutions of his brain.

As soon as Taeyong plops down onto a barstool, a fresh strawberry delight is placed in front of him. He doesn’t have the energy to object, partly because of the several previous glasses, but when he twists the metal straw between his fingers, he notices a suspiciously familiar dainty silver ring looped around it, held up on the circumference of the glass by a small piece of paper stringed through the hoop. Intrigued, he inspects the curlicue letters on the vignette. _Bring me back. Room 127._

He looks up to find Ten already observing him with smart glinting eyes, gleefully grinning when Taeyong frowns at him.

“Through the back door, just follow the white rabbit.”

Taeyong suddenly feels like ants are crawling all over his skin, the sensation between a soft tingle and a furious itch. Although he’s athirst for a whiff of the snow-smelling frosty air outside, he gulps down his drink instead, closing his palm around the thin silver band.

Once he crosses the painted metal doors just off the side of the stage, the rumble of the crowd completely disappears as if a tape cut by sharp scissors in the middle of a track. He’s getting antsier by the second, exhaustion making his head feel like floating, having to pay meticulous attention to keep his balance as he places one leg after the other in the long corridor, walls clad in the same blue velvet, a row of simple black doors opening on both sides. He mumbles when he counts the numbers on them because he doesn’t trust himself to keep one in mind long enough until the next.

Maybe it’s the city that numbed him to emotions for this long, rough concrete blocks and grunge covered tar repelling anything charming and mesmerizing, the heavy steel and rigid glass of high stretched skyscrapers fending off the malleability of magic, the dissonant scurry of the ever-busy crowd drowning out the harmony that resonates so alluringly from the elevated podium. Maybe this is why it’s so hard to find those metal doors, because the place is trying to guard its occupants from the harsh reality of the metropolis, only opening up to those susceptible to its enchantment, who can be trusted to tuck it away in their heart and keep it safe, to cherish and cultivate it like a blooming flower, fragile and beautiful. Maybe Dongyoung was meant to reveal his identity only to those who have been selected by the magic.

Taeyong can’t finish knocking on the door because the next second it’s already open, Dongyoung standing in front of him, eager, donning a silk robe with a belt of the same material holding the front in place. He has already started removing most of the rhinestones and his makeup, but the glitter seems to stay, perhaps eternally stuck to his skin, getting into the pores and crevices, minuscule specks illuminating his face at the slightest ray of light. He looks absolutely beautiful, sweat sticking his hair to his face, and Taeyong feels vibrant little spots clouding his vision.

“Did you like the concept? Was it too much? I might have gone overboard with all the decoration.”

Genuine worry laces his voice as he opens the door wider in a straightforward invitation for Taeyong to enter. He doesn’t step back though, Taeyong has to squeeze in next to him through the doorframe, and this way they are so close to each other that Dongyoung’s breaths fan across Taeyong’s cheeks. The only thing he can still concentrate on are the other’s lips forming the syllables.

“It’s my birthday today, so I wanted everything to be perfect.”

Taeyong’s mind goes blank once again, leaving him unable to control his reactions. He leans in, his soft murmur of _happy birthday_ directly plastered over Dongyoung’s lips, and he feels the man smile before pushing back against him, deepening the kiss.

_“Thank you, Alice.”_

**Author's Note:**

> i really, really wanted to include also the aromantic representation with cinderella/winwin, but the story stretched on for so long that i couldn't give him the attention he would have deserved, i'm sorry ㅠㅠ  
> please drop a comment to let me know if it got close to your expectations ~ ^^  
> 


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